Punishment
by Misty Satin Dream
Summary: Jack Aubrey never forgave himself. Nonslashjust friendship. FINAL CHAPTER UP just fluff to give it more of an end. Please enjoy & thank you to all of my reviewers!
1. Something's Amiss

Punishment  
  
Chapter One: Something's Amiss  
  
I saw in his eyes, in those first confusing moments when the lost bullet sought refuge in my side, a blur of emotions: fear, regret, concern, love, tenderness. When I realized what had happened, I could look only at him but not to say, "This is what you get." I looked at him for protection, just as he has looked at me a thousand times when they've carried him down to my table.

And he gave it.

But delirium consumed me and I lost the ability to calculate what my dearest friend was feeling by the hour. Something in my foggy brain triggered when his voice whispered deeply beside me—nothing more.

The Galapagos and back again: I recovered, as did each of our sore prides and feelings. Music returned to the Great Cabin (much to Killick's disapproval) and for my part, Captain Jack Aubrey seemed as light-humored and skilled as a leader than ever before.

"He hid it from you, I suppose," Tom Pullings tells me now. "But even after you recovered, which brought him no end of relief, I assure you, something was amiss. The Captain seemed...unsure..." Tom chooses to say, frightening me in the pit of my stomach. Hesitant—_unsure_—not Jack. Never Jack.


	2. Whatever the cost, dear Acheron

Chapter Two: Whatever the cost, dear Acheron.  
  
Dressed in our whaler costumes, I stole a moment for myself the morning we attacked the Acheron. I cursed her in my mind for the destruction she had caused this crew, this ship, and momentarily, this friendship. But I also promised her that she would be taken a prize today.  
"Whatever the cost?" she mocked me. A smile crept to my lips.  
"Oh yes, dear Acheron. Whatever the cost."

I suppose I didn't fully mean it. I said it for Jack because...well, because he needed me to. "Whatever the cost" still sounds careless to my ears. But when Captain Aubrey says those three words, he is imagining himself as the first to die.

That was the first time I really understood. I backed away from the rail, suddenly not so bold with the Acheron looming larger and larger before me. She meant to take whomever she could. And Jack was willing to be one of them.

For the second time on this commission, I prayed. I had prayed that dope Higgins would keep his hands off of me; now I prayed that the Acheron would keep its bloody clutches off Jack Aubrey. He was laughing with Bonden at the helm as I ducked beneath the deck.

I waited patiently—nervously, but controllably so—for the battle to begin. Consumed by the quiet ticking of my watch, I started when the Captain's boom declared, "Let fly!" The larboard battery exploded, the deck shuddered, and I waited.

But I could not wait. Not this time. Battle after battle, patient after patient, relieved when the next body laid before me wasn't the burly form of Aubrey. I was on deck, watching, crossing the boarding plank, all the while following the small golden ponytail. Jack was agile and fast with his sword, accurate with his pistol. He took on the ambience of a young boy, playing pirates or the like. This wasn't war for him now; this was just fun.

The first Frenchman that lunged at me was all it took. Fury blazed inside—fury that became a thrill. Survival. When they decided I wasn't crumbling easily, four, five, six of them came upon me at once. Jack was nearby. Jack was ending them. Jack had not hesitated.

Jack was brutal. He didn't stop. They fell to his feet; he stabbed again. And again. I, somewhere between shock and horror, could not even tell him to stop. The gentle giant who could make a tiny wood carving sing praises to Heaven, who rarely raised his voice to a yell, was relentlessly slaughtering those bodies. Blood poured out around my feet. He looked at me, breathing hard, blinking vacant eyes. Slowly, Jack backed away as though confused, turned and nearly ran off.

I almost stopped him, almost grabbed his arm, almost told him it was okay. But he disappeared before I could almost act. He needed me in that terrible moment when my eyes had been so full of judgment. I had been the one to hesitate.


	3. Lost Confidant

Chapter Three: Lost Confidant  
  
Sick Berth was buzzing already when I returned to the Surprise. Those who weren't already dead were not fatally wounded for a change of pace. A gash on the forehead and a splinter in the leg: I hurried through them, for Jack would need healing in more ways than one. My head fumbled over his actions, finding no connection to reason.  
It was long dark before I could leave my station to seek the Captain. Gathering fresh supplies, I walked purposefully to his cabin, where, despite the hour, he had not yet retired. I knocked on the latched door to the Great Cabin. No answer. Near panic. Knocked again. No answer. Panic.

"Jack?" it was a cry, more than a question.  
"Hmm?" came the half-hearted reply. I pushed open the door. He sat at his desk, sifting through papers, at least pretending to be focused. To my surprise he had not changed since the battle.  
"How much of that is yours?" I asked wryly, motioning towards his bloodied shirt. Still no answer. A sigh.  
"Not most of it, Stephen." I had forgotten. My question, in light of the afternoon's events, seemed cruel.  
"Oh, Jack...I didn't mean..." I trailed, helplessly.  
"I know you didn't." Jack smiled at me weakly, but it was in such earnest that I was relieved. "You weren't referencing..." Another tired sigh. Neither of us could finish our sentences.  
"Well, let me take a look..." I approached, supplies in hand. Jack seemed to not hear me as he pushed past toward the door. All right, I thought. This is unusual.  
"Pass the word for Mr. Pullings," Jack called up the stairs. The echo of his order spread down the quarterdeck. "Mr. Pullings to the Great Cabin..."

In what I thought was cooperation, Jack returned to his desk. Straight back to work, scratching out an account of the battle, he seemed completely unaware that I was still in the room. I shifted my weight, childishly unsure of what to do.  
When he lifted his pen from the page and held it in the air for a long moment, I tugged at his overcoat to remove it. Jack let me do so and I laid it carefully over a vacant chair. There was a knock at the door.  
"Not now, Killick," Jack said softly.  
"Which you haven't e—"  
"Thank you, Killick." He interrupted, louder. His steward dispersed. Nervousness skulked over my frame, causing me to shiver involuntarily. I'd rather have you unconscious before me than like this. At least then I would know what was wrong.  
I put one hand on his shoulder gently, as to not startle him with my voice. It didn't matter; the Captain, weathered and sturdy, shuddered out of surprise and pain at my touch.  
"Jack, please. I just want to make sure you're alri—"  
"I'm fine, Stephen. I would have come to you before." Tom Pullings was shown in just then, saving Jack further explanation and allowing Killick one more disapproving glare.  
"Captain, Doctor..." Tom nodded at each of us.  
"Tom, your recount of this afternoon, if you please."  
"Certainly, sir. I was with the starboard—" Jack held up his finger, turning to me.

He was asking me to leave. Not even in the first hours of our first commission together—years and years ago—had Jack Aubrey ever asked me to leave him with an officer. I did not question him; I was not angry. But there was instant hurt. Unbelievable injury, like a puppy sorely scolded for the first time.  
I dawdled uselessly around the sick berth for an hour, maybe two. The long and trying day had not the power to shut out my worry so sleep and I were not companions. I had to try again, even if I could just prod his shoulder for a moment, I would be more at peace. No light shown from beneath the door of the Great Cabin any longer but before I could knock on his cabin door, whispers from inside stopped me.

"Careful, Killick, don't..." Jack hissed in pain.  
"It won't do any good to dab around it, sir." Killick grumbled. I could have broken that door at the hinges, but I had not the courage.  
"There now, Captain. The Acheron is yours. Perhaps you can retake to sleeping more than two hours at a time..." "T'would be my pleasure, Preserved Killick. But it won't be my reality." "What still troubles you, sir?" More hurt. More guilt. What's happened, Jack? I asked myself. What's happened that you can no longer confide in me? Stop eavesdropping, I told myself. Let him rest. As I lay in my hammock, jealousy snatched up my worry. After all our days, good or poor, our losses and victories, our moments of comradeship and enmity—_**after all our music**_— my dear Jack Aubrey couldn't look into my eyes.


	4. Squalls

**Thanks much to my reviewers!**

Chaucer: I'm happy it's not a Jack/Stephen too! And there will be more, even if I could just end it. LOL--thanks for you time.

ScifiRogue: So glad you like it! Hope you got my e-mail...

Thestral Dea: I promoise I will finish it!

Eldarwen999: If I told you my plans, then what would there be for you to read? LOL I'm not sure if this is what you're asking, but it _will not _be turning into slash.

Chapter Four: Squalls  
  
The next wave of patients—those who hadn't sought my attentions immediately and decided they had better—kept me distracted for two days. I saw nothing of Jack, only heard his heavy step on deck. He sent Killick for updates in my department.  
Repairs were extensive and each shift worked has hard and long as the last. But Jack worked them all—if not supervising, with a hammer in hand. The other officers, who chewed their evening meal in uncharacteristic quiet, therefore excused his absence at his own table for dinner. I of course did not and slipped away unnoticed to follow Killick.  
Shadows consumed the deck, as the only brightness in the sky was far off along the horizon. The Surprise was sitting in the middle of an angry tempest, soon to burst. I watched from a threshold as Killick scanned the quarterdeck for the Captain and approached. More eavesdropping...  
"Which dinner has been served, sir."  
"Thank you, Killick. But this storm will not wait for me to eat. We must be ready."  
"Captain, you have not eaten since breakfast." Killick said more quietly, quickly.  
"I'll take supper in my cabin at two bells." Jack sprang up the ropes; I darted below to intercept Killick as he passed.  
"May I have a word, Killick?" The steward look surprised at this strange request but mumbled his consent. Alone in Jack's cabin, I noted the full tray from this morning. Still staring at it, I began:  
"Killick, has the Captain...had a lack of appetite in the past few days?"  
"He will eat when he is hungry enough, I imagine." I sighed.  
"Something is not right and I think you know what it is. Now, as his steward you are not inclined to tell me of your personal conversations, but as his physician, anything you could tell me would be most obliging."  
"The Captain was scratched up from battle, Doctor, but he's recovered by now. It's as you say, sir. Nothing that isn't personal needs reportin' to you." Killick left me before I could reproach him. His answers were unsurprising; he could not let it appear as though he couldn't take care of his captain.  
Two bells came and went, then three. By the time the first watch was over, I watched the last of the steam escape Jack's dinner, left on his desk. Rain dropped on the panes of the windows, reminding me of the storm that was sure to punish us for a few hours at least.  
"Mr. Allen," I heard him call in the fluctuating winds, "We must tie down the fore topsail—do not wait longer."  
"So you're not coming in," I accused, to no one. "I'll come to you."  
The decks were chaotic. Officers were divided into groups for repairs or preparation for the storm. Bonden was changing our course every few minutes. Jack was far aloft, tying down sails like an able seaman. Mowett hoarsely yelled up at him:  
"Sir, should we be clearing the decks—due to the swells?" Even with the great height, Jack's soaked, loose hair could be seen shaking his denial.  
"Keep on with your repairs, Mr. Mowett, until the first big one arrives." Mowett saluted. Madness, I thought to myself. If I could see Jack's hair well enough, I could also see him working with only one arm, the other motionless at his side. Flashback to his cabin: I hadn't surprised him when I had touched his shoulder. I had caused pain.  
I returned below, naturally unable to get Jack's attention. It was obvious when the swells had begun sweeping the deck, for the first round of wounded had been knocked off their feet. One of them was Barrett Bonden—a most unusual visitor to my berth.  
"Bonden—who's at the helm?" I joked with him, examining his left arm, which ailed him. The coxswain grinned.  
"The Captain, sir. Steering his ship far better than me." My face sank, even to hear my oldest friend praised so by his crew. He would be out there forever, now. I cleared my throat.  
"Well, Bonden. That's a clean break you have there. You'll have to rest it for about a week, I should think." The good coxswain smiled again and sighed. If only all my patients were so accepting of my treatment...


	5. The Haunting of Captain Aubrey

Chapter Five: The Haunting of Captain Aubrey  
  
"Mr. Calamy....Mr. Calamy—grab hold of the rail!" The youngest lieutenant did so just in time; the swell buried him for a moment. Poor lad had been emptying his stomach overboard for about ten minutes now, mostly salt water anyway.

"Mr. Mowett," Jack continued shouting, "The helm, if you please." Jack approached Calamy, almost slipping twice which caused me to start onto the heaving decks. But his good arm dragged him from rigging to rigging until he reached the boy.

"I'm very sorry, sir. I'm alright now..."  
" Peter, you have nothing to apologize for," the captain soothed, placing an arm around his shoulders. "Come now, let's get you below for awhile."  
"Sir, I serve until my captain rests." Bless the boy! Here was my chance...  
Jack let out a tired laugh. "You've more than done your duty, lad."

"As have you." I finally spoke up and stepped into the downpour. It felt foreign, the two of us regarding each other; forty eight hours of nonstop rain and we had not passed a single word. Something just short of shock crossed Jack's face upon seeing me.

"Stephen, there you are. Take Mr. Calamy below, would you? And make sure he dries off for awhile!" He clapped Peter on the shoulder, managing to raise a smile out of the boy. I let Peter pass me to go below. But this wasn't over.

"Jack, did you hear me?" Captain Aubrey turned from me. _No. Eventually you must heed me._ I stopped myself from grabbing the shoulder and reached for his forearm instead. He spun quickly.

"What is it, doctor?"  
"When was the last time you were out of this rain?" He looked away, rolling his eyes in exasperation. I cocked my head to follow his line of sight, accusingly. _You always think you are the only one loosing patience.  
_ "Jack—please, come inside for awhile—"

"Return to you patients, sir!" Another blow. This was quickly becoming the new norm of our correspondence. He had taken to shocking me into obedience with sudden formalities and coldness.

"You_ are_ one of my patients. My_ first_ patient." The captain turned his back to me, and returned to the helm. I gave up again, for the time being. Let him walk away—underfed, untended to, and thoroughly drenched. My concern was morphing into frustration—frustration with myself, for not being able to determine a cause for Jack's behavior.

Mr. Calamy looked quite revived already when I returned to the berth.  
"Is the captain not with you?"  
"No, unfortunately. The Captain seems to think he is more immortal than the rest of us, ergo he doesn't need to dry off." Peter's eyes widened.

"Sir, he has not slept since the storm began. I though for sure he'd come down now. Perhaps I could ask the captain to come in...."  
"Mr. Calamy, I daresay, yours would be a lost cause. He must come in eventually. And we, I suppose, must wait."

I dosed for some time—the eternal rain washing away my sense of time. The constant darkness hid the differences between dawn and dusk as well. There were voices, faint and dreamlike, outside sick berth. In that dangerous state between awareness and sleep when the mind twirls at will, I listened to Joe Plaice's latest yarn.

"It happens to Captains...when they've been chasin' a phantom. Even after they catch her, she gets inside 'em. She sets 'em ablaze, ya see. They only want another phantom to chase...to capture. That's why he stays out in the rain so long...he's tryin' to put out the fire..."

Ludicrous, my brain declared. Jack is still in the rain because he's crazy. Not because some falsity of a phantom had...had seized him. But, as Jack often reminds me: "Not everything is in your books."  
As aloof and out of character as Jack had been, I could tell he wasn't chasing anything through this storm. He was running away. From his memory, from the Acheron...maybe he was just running from me. The notion had crept into my head that the only thing that would stop him would be...no, I couldn't let it get that far. I'd just go out there and—

"Which I would like to speak with you, sir." A shy Killick had entered the berth; his expression worried me.  
"Of course, Killick, what is the—"  
"Follow me, if you please." The steward mumbled. I snatched my eyeglasses from the table and briskly chased after him. He led me back to Jack's cabin, all the while muttering to me.

"I sees no point in keepin' quiet any longer...the captain's been actin' strange as of late. He 'ardly touches his meals, 'ardly sleeps any. Now he's gone and smacked his head on the helm."

"Is it badly hurt?" I ask, hurriedly.  
"Can't tell, sir. He won't even let me take a good look at it...he doesn't know I've come to fetch you. I imagine he won't be overjoyed to see you, which, if you don't mind my sayin' so, is quite out of the ordinary."

"Yes, I've noticed that myself, Killick. I thought he'd have discussed his aversion of me with you." The old steward simply shook his head; whether he did not know or would not divulge that sort of information, I could not be certain. All of that fled my mind however, as I stepped into Jack's familiar cabin. It had been redecorated with every article of clothing Jack had, hanging about to dry.  
He did not turn to see who had entered, obviously believing it was just Killick with his tea. Still watching the storm with interest, Jack stood at his window, dropping bloodied handkerchiefs at his feet. The blood was dripping down his temples, into his sopping hair, despite his efforts to stop the flow from his forehead.

"Oh, soul..." It was nearly a whisper. Jack turned 'round so fast in surprise he nearly fell over. I continued my cautious approach. His face had aged into a death-like pallor; his eyes were sinking in bruised circles.

"Stephen...I...wasn't expecting you," Jack managed, shoving a disgusted look at Killick.  
"No, I'm quite certain you were not." I did not take my eyes off his face, even as I called to Killick—"Go to Higgins, he'll know what I need." The steward darted off, a happy escapee of the emergent tension. Jack let out a casual snigger.

"Don't trouble yourself, Doctor. The cut is nothing to speak of. I'm sure it will be done bleeding soon enough." His tone was light; his eyes were dangerous.

"Well, Jack, it would be no great event, then, to just let me have a look..." He tried to walk around me but I moved to stand in his path. Jack moved his eyes to mine, staring deeply.

"If you please, doctor..." he said firmly, very controlled. Tried to get around the other way, but there I was again. A minute, matter-of-fact smile came to my lips.

"Not this time, Jack." The captain's expression moved rapidly: shock, anger, confusion. Killick reentered, so both of us were silent as he dropped my supplies and again retreated.

"Jack..." My brow furrowed as I reached one hand up to his head. He thrashed his arm into mine, pushed forwards to get past me, knocked me forcefully to the ground.

Stunned, I remained on my back for what seemed a decade. But Jack was almost at the door. I sprung up in irritation, yelling now, _"No—you'll not walk away this time, Jack!"  
_

**A/N: Wow, strange ending to a chapter...forgive me? And, I know, I know, Peter died on the Acheron but I love him and I had things for him to say, so I hope no one is really upset about that.  
  
Love to all my reviewers! You guys are so awesome—because of you, I am writing this story faster than I have ever written anything before! **


	6. This Moment Was Both

_Chapter Six: This Moment Was Both _

There have been very few times in our long friendship that Jack Aubrey and I have really fought. Despite our conflicting personas, studies—what have you—we _bicker_; we do not wage war.

And even fewer times than that have I, as a physician, inflicted pain on another intentionally—in a manner that could have been avoided.

This moment was both.

In four running strides I reached him. Jack had the door partially open already, but I grabbed his ailing shoulder and pressed down with my fingers. He cried out and swung at me; prepared, I leapt backwards. Captain Aubrey glared at me with great anger and greater hurt, clutching his provoked shoulder. My own anger at his behavior was chasing away the remorse I immediately felt at wounding him.

"What is it, Jack? Hmm? Is pushing me away helping?" His eyes shifted evilly into mine.

"Leave it alone, Stephen..." he growled.

"Is starving yourself helping? Is _bleeding_, Jack? Or, I know, not sleeping for two days might do the trick. My my, you must feel wonderful, Captain Aubrey. It's a wonder you don't _look_ better."

My voice had grown progressively louder and soaked in sarcasm as Jack walked toward me with the threatening stagger of a hunter. I ignored him, squaring my shoulders.

"But above all, Jack..." I continued shouting, "Above all, _run away. _Don't just tear yourself to pieces. And run away from me especially. Because God knows—and only He knows—what it is I have done to warrant—."

"_IT ISN'T YOU, STEPHEN! IT'S ME...IT'S WHAT I'VE DONE."_ At last he bellowed. When the echo died off, that terrible silence slammed against my head as though the ceiling had fallen on it.

A trickle of blood intersected Jack's eyebrow, causing him to grunt and swab at it. Instinct stepped me forward, instantly less desperate to know what troubled my captain as to ease his obvious discomfort. But the one step I managed pushed him back three.

"_Jack—"_ I whispered, arm outstretched. His head shook from side to side in denial. "Please, just...let me..." _Let me pick up the pieces._

" Please." Utter anguish was my last option; if Jack could no longer respond to that perhaps I could not help him.

The bell on the quarterdeck clanged in its bored manner. Scrambling—thudding.

Silence.

Like a crumbling pillar of stone after a hurricane he stood—so still for so long, I began to accept that I would receive no answer in this forum. I turned to the window, to the torrent of windy rain slathering the _Surprise._

" I..." I whirled back around, my eyes searching Jack's lips for signs of animation. Had so faint a sound—any sound at all—escaped him? _Please speak, brother. Say anything, coherent or otherwise..._

"I h-hesitated, Stephen." I closed my eyes for a moment in relief that he was producing sentences of any sort.

"When you were shot...afterwards. It was as though I didn't know what I was supposed to do or what...decision was correct. So I just kept after the _Acheron._ I HESITATED with your _life. _Even when I could see it slipping away." He choked on the last, cleared his throat, and continued. Jack's voice raised and sped with each phrase.

"I suppose the reality is that I was so shocked by my own uncertainty, dumbfounded because _I_—Jack Aubrey—needed someone to tell me what to do. And once I didn't have that, well...my God, Stephen. It wouldn't have been Howard who had killed you but myself, to be sure."

His words clanged in me as though I were standing in proximity to the bells of Notre Dame.

" Good Heavens, Jack. It would have been _nothing_ of the sort_—"_

" Stephen, in those days—_days—_ that I waited, it was no less my duty to do what was best for this crew. And I couldn't even accomplish that. I was actually coming closer to filling their purses than securing their health and limbs. Regardless of the crew, personally, you were my best friend and I neglect—"

"AM, Jack. I _AM_ your best friend." Jack's glossy eyes rolled about my face with something akin to disbelief.

"I'm not altogether certain I deserve that privilege, Stephen."

It was dim in the cabin now, dark enough for a bolt of lightening to light the deeply etched lines of his face. Jack stood, shoulders drooped inwards, wisps of gold hanging in front of his eyes, which were searching the floor mournfully. I ran a hand over my face, sighing.

" That is nonsense, Jack." I sighed in exasperation. "It's absolute nonsense. You speak as though—"

" Is it, Stephen?" His voice was climbing to a yell. "It's nonsense that after what passed between us in this room at the Galapagos, after I couldn't convince myself that your life was more important than the damned privateer, it's _nonsense_ that I have made a gross error in fellowship towards you?"

" We are both at fault for the Galapagos, Jack. You must share the blame on that account." I matched Jack's volume, suddenly aware that Killick wouldn't need to be hunched over near the doorknob to hear _this_ conversation.

"After the words that I should never have even thought came out of my mouth, I should have been all the more resolute, with all the more celerity, to turn this ship around—as you would have—and return to the islands."

_Tell me, dear God Jack, tell me these aren't truly the reasons you've—_

Jack turned a hip to me, hand sweeping at his still-bloodied brow. His eyes sought distraction; his breathing was heavy and deep.

" Jack," my voice was high-pitched in my strain of disbelief, "you assume too much, brother. I would have struggled with such a decision as well. Do you really believe that I don't understand you have a _duty_, Jack? That you have orders? I know I grumble regularly about the service—" Jack's eyebrows raised at this, citing my understatement.

"Alright, I _belittle_ it regularly...but the point is, Jack, I don't harbor any contempt towards you for waiting or weighing your options."

" It...does not..._matter_, Stephen," he hissed. "The fact remains that I have fai—" Shudders convulsed through his frame and out of his voice. "I am so dreadfully sorry, Stephen. I am sorry for both my inappropriate words and my silence. I am sorry for my actions..." My mind revisited those images. I fought the urge to shudder now.

Distantly he explained why he had fought in such a way aboard the _Acheron. _"Because I was sure," he said. "I was certain of what I had to do again." Jack paused to let out a shallow, tired sigh.

"_But I couldn't control it."_ There was a terrible agony in his voice, as though he were standing in judgment before some higher being, trying to justify all his days. My shudders transformed into aches:_ My God. What dark workings go on beneath the façade of such commanding skin. _

"I have failed you, Stephen. In more ways than one..." He could not continue, as his eyes had plowed into my face. I could not move. In all the twisting explanations I had spun in my head for his behavior, I never imagined that the unshakeable Aubrey had frightened himself into a vicious stupor.

"Joy..." I finally whispered, closing the space between us, arm outstretched. He flinched away from me still, without making eye contact.

"No, Stephen." His tears were real now. "_No._" Jack set his teeth definitively, fingered the stained cloth in his hands, and shuffled back to the door. I was sent reeling.

_You can't actually be—you aren't—going back out there_. I had to stop him, had to say something to stop him...the door was opening, he was stepping through—

"Jack, if this is all some...production to weasel gratitude out of me, you've far out done yourself, brother."

That did it. Jack Aubrey froze in the doorframe, head slowly rising to rest proudly between the sculpted shoulders. And when he turned around to see the smirk I wore, his fatigued face showed his amusement—his "well argued" admission.

When I approached this time, he did not flinch or thrash or flee. Jack stood certainly still, as though awaiting instructions. One of his massive hands wandered behind him to re-shut the door. Both our expressions shed their momentary lightness; pain still leaked through his drooping features and tears were still threatening.

"You have punished yourself enough, now, and unreasonably so. Come, sit down before you fall down, joy..." He let me lead him to his hammock.

" Stephen, your _life_ is more dear than mere orders. How could I ever—?"

"Shhh...be still now." I leaned over him, trying to examine his forehead. The cut was long but shallow and he flinched as I pressed a proper cloth to it. For the first time in nearly a week, Jack Aubrey was sitting still, breathing normally.

It was while I was fastening to the bandages to his head that I felt the sickly heat surrounding the captain. The long hours in the rain were taking their effect. His eyes questioned me when I pressed a hand to the back of his neck, gauging how high the fever already was.

_You love too deeply, Jack Aubrey. And look where it has brought you again. You love just too deeply..._

Shouts preceded the familiar cracking, snapping, crunching of wood on deck. Jack's peace snapped with it, and he sprang to his feet. I was forced to step backwards (again) as he muttered something about the mizzenmast.

"Jack, you have a high fever..." I began, making no effort to harness my exasperation. "You cannot withstand another _fifteen minutes_ in this rain."

"Her masts are breaking, Stephen. How many more would you have me lose, sitting idly by?" In a thunderclap he was back out the door, leaving it half-open so that I could see Killick in his shadows. Slowly the steward shuffled back into the room.

"You weren't sitting idly by..." I scolded to Killick, who, for the first time I can remember, openly agreed with me.

"Which I am assuming it is not taken care of?" he grumbled soon afterwards. I slammed my materials around and jammed them under my arm.

"No, Killick, it is not. Shame on me for not tying him down when I had the chance."

I stormed back to my berth, accepting defeat at last. _The trouble with you Jack Aubrey is that one can ever carry on any sort of meaningful discourse before you fly off to coddle your damned boat..._

Feeling in a most unreasonable mood, I opened my sketchbook to continue working, determined to pay no mind to the calls or thuds on deck. No injuries from the collapse were appearing, so I had nothing to distract me. Nothing...

Every time there was a thump, I imagined it was Jack finally falling unconscious.

Every officer's call was for my name, shouted urgently in a panic.

Every bolt of lightening, assurance that some tragedy would occur.

I managed no measurable amount of time at my books, the torpid ocean not allowing for one controlled line. And the deck above me was growing eerily quiet; soon it seemed minutes had passed since there had been any calls to the wind. I, alarmed, raced from my headquarters, out through the berth, straight into Tom Pullings.

"Doctor..." he panted, a lake already forming at his feet. Jack Aubrey was hanging in between his shoulders and Peter Calamay's.

"Dear God, what happened?" I questioned, snapping out of my surprise and helping to move the heavy captain.

"Not sure, sir," Tom managed. "The Captain couldn't seem to keep his feet. I went to help him up and noticed how uncommonly warm he is, especially considering this freezing rain." I listened to what I already knew while clearing a proper space to lay Jack down, at long last. But as we tried to move him again, lucidness returned to Jack and he shook the midshipman and lieutenant off of him.

"Thank you Mr. Calamy, Mr. Pullings. That will be quite enough..." he slurred out, motioning for them to leave. They looked to me for their orders though, and I nodded my consent.

"Her mizzen mast was broken clean in half, lines are snapping with each gust of wind. Our foretop sail is in shreds...if this storm doesn't do us in..." Jack raised his eyebrows in question. _And what of Jack Aubrey, hmm? What is broken in him?_

As he rattled on about parts of the ship I didn't even recognize, I shuffled his burly frame over to a table, forcing him to sit. The wrappings on his forehead were pink: soaked through already with blood, the rain making them limp and useless. I changed them rapidly, anxiety at Jack's over-heated person and clammy hands mounting.

"Stephen..." his voice was so very timid and his darting eyes so uneasy.

"What is it, my dear?"

"Shoulder...hurts..." I could have chuckled at his childlike manner if I were not so distraught. I had nearly put aside the signs of his ailment and Jack has had a great many things happen to him without so much as an "owww."

Slowly I peeled away his wet jacket and tunic. He watched me intently, then dropped his eyes away, like a puppy who didn't want me to discover what he had done in the other room. As his shirt slid down off of his right shoulder, I met my new challenge.

The end of a bayonet had had its way with Jack's shoulder. It had had its way five times.

All the shades of purple, green, and gray surrounded the infected area, spreading far down his arm. The wounds themselves were an angry, deep scarlet, struggling to close themselves without proper stitching.

"Joy...what is this?" My voice screeched. I placed three fingers with ghostly gentleness near one of the deep holes and trembled, yanking back, when Jack cried out.

"Stephen..." Jack groaned. His eyes were so weary now; my own were stinging knowing that I could not spare him every pain.

"Jack Aubrey," I began, sternly as possible, "you know far better than this. Dear _God_—Jack..." He began to chuckle.

"If you were so very angry, Stephen, it would be all done and over with by now."

I eased him down flat, allowing him to relax ever so slightly. And when I had found some dry blankets to wrap around his feverish body, I started to clean Jack's disastrous limb.

When the three large stab wounds were sewed up, I enclosed the shoulder in clean bandages and let it be. The eyes so long clamped shut slid open and smiled at me.

"I'm so very sorry..." Jack Aubrey whispered at me, in the shadowy room. I might as well have choked on my heart.

"Love, no...you have _nothing_ to...no..." I pressed my cool hand to his sweaty brow. He nodded softly and made his attempt to sleep.

I exhaled at last, near three in the morning, when I could feel his fever declining. The rain had drizzled its last and the lower decks became crowded again now that the men could finally rest. I felt at peace for what seemed the first time in all my years and dropped off to sleep beside the captain.


	7. If You

Chapter Seven: If You'll Excuse Me 

The table was bare when I awoke, which perhaps I should have predicted. Nevertheless, I checked every corner of the sick berth, thankful for the blazing light of day flooding from above. The sun had found us at last, but even that could not keep my worry from jumbling my insides.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I reached the quarter deck certain I would find my escapee there. And there he stood in naught but a tunic and trousers, being mindful of his shoulder (I would give him that) and talking enthusiastically with Tom. Jack's back was to me, but Tom saw me approaching and interrupted his captain's chuckling to excuse himself, just as I cleared my throat loudly.

Jack was smiling anew, knowing it was I before he turned. I crossed my arms defiantly, swallowing a grin so that I could scold him convincingly.

"I've never been known to talk in my sleep, Captain Aubrey, but I suppose your going to tell me I absent mindedly excused you from the berth?"

"No, indeed, Stephen, you were sleeping quite soundly when I left you this morning." The captain's good humor did not leave him.

"And why exactly did you leave?"

"Wretchedly uncomfortable to sleep on, those tables of yours are, doctor. Here I have believed always that your first concern was for your patient's relief and well-being."

I had to sigh at this, thoroughly disarmed once again by the boyish grin of Jack Aubrey.

"Well, then m'dear, may I see after your shoulder in the luxury of your own cabin?"

"Luxury! My, Stephen, such a compliment must be sent to Killick. He will be most pleased to hear that you think so highly of his upkeep." I rolled my eyes half-heartedly, as the captain and I did indeed make our way down to his room. I seated Jack in his chair at once, and felt after his fever.

"Still warm, Jack, too warm to be called normal. Don't overheat yourself on deck anymore today. Now as for this shoulder…" My intense cleaning of the bayonet wounds seemed to have chased off the majority of the awful infection that had threatened to take hold of the limb. The redness, too, had faded now until the area was mostly bandages and bruises.

Jack was quiet and cooperative, which when I commented on, he gave no reply. "Are you well, joy?" I ventured after his bandages had been changed, and I had gently returned his shirt to cover them.

"Just thinking, Stephen…" he said, very quietly. "Choices…" I smiled tentatively, showing him, as best I could, that I understood. His mind was recovering with his body. But for a captain, the scars of certain choices remain forever.

There was little melancholia in his step as he stood from the chair and walked the few steps toward the door, yawning broadly. He knew…well, he _knows_, me far too well and before my already open mouth could release its protest, he turned towards his hammock saying: "Now, if you'll excuse me, doctor, I'm overdue for a nap."

With that, Jack Aubrey flopped himself down in the swinging cloth, throwing his good arm across his eyes dramatically. I shook my head at him, chuckling all the way out of his door.

_You're excused, Jack Aubrey. You are certainly and much more than excused. _


End file.
